


good enough.

by keehl



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Guardians of the Whills - Greg Rucka
Genre: Angst, Blind Character, Cuddling & Snuggling, Everyone Is Alive, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Guardians Of The Whills Era, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, Nobody is Dead, Old Husbands, POV Baze Malbus, Pre-Canon, Romance, space dads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-29 21:16:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20803106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keehl/pseuds/keehl





	good enough.

You've lost count of the number of times you’ve sat and wished things could be different. Not wildly different, not so different that the streets of Jedha become unrecognisable to you, or so different that even Chirrut could be driven to lose the faith that had defined him for so long, but different enough that you both could still smile the way you did when you were still young and newly in love, different enough that Chirrut didn’t have to hate leaving the room you shared because of the crushing feeling of despair he described with tears in his eyes, different enough that you didn’t spend every moment that you weren’t worrying about him worrying about Jedha’s other inhabitants, different enough that people weren’t constantly going to bed around you with empty stomachs. While Jedha had never been the most prosperous place in the Galaxy, at least it used to be better than this. Before the Empire arrived, and left everyone powerless to do anything about their rule. 

You could hardly remember what it felt like to be hopeful, the years under the Empire’s harsh rule had long since stamped out every bit of youthful hope out of you, and as much as you tried to convince Chirrut that things would be okay, you didn’t really believe that, and you knew that he knew that. You never could lie to him. Usually, you would never want to, but it truly crushes you to see the man you love so dearly, the man who for years had been the funniest, most light-hearted person you knew, feeling so terribly desperate for any kind of change. You wish you knew better how to reassure him. You wish you had the courage in you to do more than keep your head down and focus on keeping him safe. If you could, you would take on the Empire yourself, if only to see his old smile one more time, to see his face light up in a way that erased the age from him, and made him seem exactly like the bright young man you fell in love with so many years ago. 

But you don’t have it in you to do that. To try and fight the Empire alone would be suicide, and no one else on Jedha is stupid enough to go along with you. Not that you’ve ever voiced these thoughts to anyone but your husband. It often seems that the only thing that hasn’t changed radically in your life is the way you love him. If anything, your feelings have only grown stronger, now that you feel you need to protect him the way you do. You always felt some need to keep him safe, of course. Chirrut is a blind man with seemingly no sense of danger despite his surprising wisdom, and you’ve often fele like you were the one thing keeping him from getting himself injured, but now you’re almost constantly worried not just that he might get himself hurt just by being a bit of an idiot, but that he might say the wrong thing, or get into a fight with the wrong person, and someone might kill him. You've seen it happen to others, and you know that you couldn’t go through losing him. Not after you’ve devoted more or less your entire adult life to him, watched him grow old, and loved him for years with every piece of you. 

The idea of losing him has been a plague on your thoughts during nearly every waking moment for a long time. And he always seems to know what you’re thinking. The worst part is, all he can ever do to try to comfort you is hold you, tangle his fingers in your hair and quietly assure you that he’ll be careful, that he feels the same way. That doesn’t fix the problem. In fact, it somehow just makes it even worse. Because you know that as much as he says he'll be careful, all it would take is one mistake in front of the wrong person. When he tells you that he feels the same way you could weep, imagining him trying to live without you. You’ve been his support for most of his life, would he be okay if something happened to you? Would he find someone else to take care of him, or would he simply try to go through life alone? You can’t bear the thought of that; he can’t be alone. You’re scared to even step out for a few hours without him, wondering what kind of mess he might get himself into. What would he do if you weren’t coming back, and couldn’t fix whatever problem he’d caused? 

You try not to cry around him, because ever since you met you were the strong one, the one who assured him that everything would be all right, and if not then you would make it all right for him, but more than once you’ve fallen into tears in his arms, telling him over and over again how dearly you love him, how you couldn’t live without him, while all he could do was wipe your eyes dry and kiss your hair and tell you that he loved you too. You hate crying in front of him. It makes you feel weak, useless, like you had based your whole life around protecting this man and keeping him happy and now you can’t even do that properly. You know that he doesn’t mind when you get emotional, that he’s happy to try and reassure you the way that you try to reassure him, but it doesn’t remedy the crushing feeling of helplessness that grows in you when you feel the tears begin to well in your eyes and you know that there was no way of escaping the tidal wave of emotion that comes crashing over you. Despite how strongly you feel about so many different things, you’ve never been any good at expressing your emotions. 

You don’t hear his footsteps as he approaches, but you feel his hand come to rest atop your head, feel his fingers curl slightly to bury themselves in the tangled mess that is your hair, and immediately reach out to wind your arm around his waist as he sits down in your lap, pulling him to you. 

“Baze,” he murmurs, as he slowly combs his fingers through your hair, gently undoing some of the tangles as he does, “how many times do I need to tell you that dwelling on all the misfortunes of the Galaxy won’t solve anything?” 

Despite not seeing you, Chirrut’s eyes seem intent, as if they’re focused on your face. You know, of course, that this isn’t the case, that it never has been and never will be, but you still feel as though you’re being watched. You’re more than used to this by now, of course. He‘s never been able to see in all the time you’ve known him and longer, and yet you feel as though that’s an advantage to him somehow. 

“What good will pretending they don’t exist do?” you argue, despite knowing he’s right. Even when he isn’t right you usually just go along with him, unwilling to argue with him even in a more playful context than this one, but he very rarely is actually wrong. 

“None,” Chirrut replies, with a half shrug, “but at least you wouldn’t have them on your mind. Maybe you’d even smile again.” 

He used to love when you smiled. He said he could hear it in your voice, and when he rested his palms on your cheeks, he could feel the upward curve of your lips. It used to make him smile. Now neither of you smile half as much as you used to, and it never feels as real as it used to. You miss his smile, and you suppose it makes sense that he would miss yours as well. 

“What is there to smile about?” 

“Plenty of things. For one thing, you aren’t dead, isn’t that good news? And neither am I, so you’ve accomplished that little mission you set for yourself.” 

“Not being dead shouldn’t be something to smile about, it should be a given.” 

“We’re old, pretty soon it won’t be.” 

“Don’t say that,” you mutter, giving him a gentle nudge in the ribs. You tend not to think about your old age. You feel that most of your life has been a happy one, yes, but you’re far more scared of death than you used to be now that the idea of the Force no longer provides you with the same comfort it did when you were a young man. You’re glad it still comforts Chirrut, and that he still sees no reason to fear what lies after death. You wish that you could still feel the same way. 

“Am I wrong?” he asks, shoving you right back. You like moments like these and you know he does too, they’re almost reminiscent of your younger years, like some watered-down version of a night you spent together when you were still falling in love, and he was energetic and vibrant and you were young and uncertain and embarrassingly shy when it came to your attempts at wooing him. He teased you about your shyness later on, when you were both older and looking back fondly on your youth, glad you had spent those years together. 

“We aren’t that old.” 

“Ah, but with the way you act we might as well be.” 

“What do you mean, ‘the way I act’? If I'm not very much mistaken, you act far more like an infirm old man than I do.” 

“And why shouldn’t I? You have to make the most of these years, Baze, because before long we actually will be infirm old men, and then there won’t be any fun in saying it because no one is going to look after us but each other, and we won’t even be able to do that forever.” 

“I don’t know about that; I’ve been managing pretty well at keeping you out of trouble. It’ll probably only be easier when you have no energy left.” 

“You say that like you honestly think I’ll run out.” 

He intended to make you laugh, and he succeeded to a certain extent, although the soft laugh that escapes you is nothing like the roaring laughter he used to elicit from you at the most unexpected of times, the laughter that he couldn’t help but copy, and you would both find yourself with aching sides and faces, still breaking out in fits of laughter over the same joke that had started it hours later, long after it had stopped being funny. You still think Chirrut is hilarious now, something he is very much aware of, but when you were both young and didn’t have a thing in the Galaxy to care about other than each other there was something much purer about the way he could make you laugh. Out of everything that the Empire has taken away from you in their time on Jedha, it’s the way you both used to laugh that you miss the most. 

Chirrut’s expression seems content, but there’s a very slight hint of sadness to the almost invisible smile that tugs at his lips. You know what he’s thinking. It’s the same as your own thoughts. He misses the days before the Empire just as much as you do, even if he isn’t anywhere near as vocal about it. While you’ve always insisted you were the one whose job it was after him, you can’t pretend that he hasn’t done a lot since the Empire had come to try and keep you from falling too deep into your ever-growing pit of despair. You know that deep down he’s just as disheartened as you are by the apparent lack of hope for Jedha, but he’s much better at hiding that than you are. He seldom even speaks to you about it, and you usually have to work out for yourself when he’s upset. You suppose you understand _ why _ he’s loathe to tell you, he knows full well that his emotions tend to be reflected in yourself, but you wish he wouldn’t bottle up his own feelings for the sake of yours when you’re already so miserable. 

“It troubles you as well,” you murmur, your grip on him tightening ever so slightly as you speak. “Why am I the only one who isn’t allowed to dwell on it?” 

“Because I said so,” Chirrut replies simply, and you just roll your eyes in response. “Because you, for all your size and threatening appearance, are a lot more sensitive than I am, Baze. These things hurt you more than they hurt me.” 

You can’t remember the last time Chirrut had commented on the difference between your appearance and your personality. He used to point it out a lot, finding it amusing that someone who at first seemed so cold and unemotional could turn out to be as sappy and sweet as you so often were. He used to laugh when people were afraid of you, knowing what you were really like, but now it seems that people on Jedha simply don’t have the energy to be afraid of one of their own. They have much more important things to fear. 

“They still hurt you,” you reply, “and that hurts me far more than the suffering of the rest of Jedha, you know.” 

“That’s terrible prioritisation,” Chirrut teases, giving you another little shove. “I’m one man, dear, it won’t do for you to ignore a whole moon’s plight for the sake of easing mine.” 

“I swore to prioritise you when I married you,” you counter, “you didn’t have a problem with it then.” 

“We married in very different circumstances.” 

He’s right, of course. Jedha was a happier place when you were first married. It was such a long time ago, and now it almost feels like it could have happened in a previous life. Still, you refuse to accept that he shouldn’t still be your priority. “And I married you, not the rest of Jedha.” 

You think he might have laughed at that, ever so quietly, more a slightly amused outward breath than a real laugh. Still, it was something, and you take what you can get when it comes to things such as that. The tiny half smiles that you have to be looking carefully to see, the almost laughs that you have to almost stop breathing to be able to hear. They aren’t much, but they’re something. With the way you’ve been living since the Empire’s occupation of Jedha, they’re enough. 

“That you did,” he concedes, and you know that he doesn’t quite agree with the way you’re thinking, but he wants to drop the topic. You don’t much like to talk about it either. But what else is there to talk about? You seldom do anything of any interest anymore, and so interesting conversation is hard to come by. Not that you mind sitting in silence with him. In fact, nothing comforts you more than that, feeling his small body next to yours, hearing his breathing, cradling him against your chest. 

“Tea?” you ask after a few moments. All you have is Tarine tea, now, which you hate, but there isn’t much by way of choice, and you know he likes it. 

He answers with a slight nod, and allows you to, after a few seconds, to lift him from your lap and set him down on the bed, so that you can get to your feet. You place a gentle kiss atop his head, which earns you a small smile from him. The room you share is only small, and the kitchen area is only a few steps away, but you don’t like to break the contact between him and yourself. You always feel much better when he’s in your arms or your lap. While you know he can’t see you, you can feel his eyes on your back, and you wonder, not for the first time, whether following your movements like that means anything for him, or if he does it simply for your benefit. Whatever the answer, you do quite like that habit of his. 

You sigh and lean against the counter as you wait for the water to boil. Even the little things, like the kind of tea you have to drink, have changed since the arrival of the Empire on Jedha. You always liked Chav tea, before, but in recent years it has been a lot more difficult to come by than it used to be. Tarine is the much more easily available option, and so it has been not so much the drink of choice, but the drink of convenience, always to be found in your home. You suppose it could be worse. Yes, you hate it, but Chirrut likes it. 

You’re not sure if you would quite call it a smile, but there’s a slight upward turn to his lips when you turn around, with a cup of tea in each hand. He gets to his feet when you sit down, but before you can protest he’s retaken his seat in your lap, and taken one of the cups from you. 

“Thank you, my dear,” he says softly, as he lifts the cup to his lips, despite how hot the liquid inside it is. He’s always done that, and it’s never failed to baffle you — you need to wait at least five minutes to allow your tea to cool before you can stand to drink it, but the fact that it’s still boiling has never bothered Chirrut. In fact, that seems to be precisely how he likes it. 

“Good?” you ask, once he’s lowered his cup. Given that you hate the stuff, you can’t really tell what makes a cup of Tarine tea good or bad. You think you’ve worked out, more or less, how he likes to have it made, but you always ask, just in case. 

“Good,” he affirms, with a nod of his head. You return the nod, content that he’ll feel the motion even if he can’t see it, and set your own cup down, to return to once it’s cooled down enough that it won’t scald your mouth. 

Chirrut settles comfortably against your chest, a soft sigh escaping his lips. He doesn’t seem happy, not by any stretch of the imagination, and of course that saddens you, but you suppose he seems, in this moment, content, perhaps. You are too. You wish that you could change plenty of things, but until a time comes that those changes are possible, you’ll settle for this. You miss his smile, his laugh, but you love him just as much when he’s simply in your arms, the movement of his chest assuring you that, in spite of everything that’s befallen the two of you, and the moon you call your home, over the years, he’s still here. 

And that’s good enough for you. 


End file.
